


A Different Light

by LifeOfClaude



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Awkward Boners, Bones is So Done, Cute Boys with Abs, Grumpy Bisexual Doctors, M/M, Sexual Frustration, Tags Are Fun, Tags Are Hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 10:42:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16406930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeOfClaude/pseuds/LifeOfClaude
Summary: Chekov recently turned 23 and McCoy suddenly realises he's not a "kid" anymore.





	A Different Light

**Author's Note:**

> Well, howdy!  
> This is kinda cracky, kinda fluffy, kinda hot?  
> Anyway, it was plenty of fun to write.  
> I tried to write Bones a little more vulnerable than he would probably normally be written.  
> Hope y'all like it!  
> Enjoy.

McCoy wasn’t entirely sure when he had started looking at Pavel Chekov in a different light – the light in which  _every_ other crew member seemed to also be doing. That was, in fact, that Chekov had recently turned twenty-three, and he suddenly wasn’t the ship’s baby anymore. He was a young man, excelling in his Starfleet career, promoted to Lieutenant and well on the way to Commander, and McCoy knew from many meals shared with Chekov and the usual cohort, that he hoped to be Captain some day on another vessel. He absolutely had it in him and there were no doubts from pretty much anyone he would reach his goal by the end of their next five year mission. 

  
Now that he thought about it, pouring over a bunch of admin work in his office, McCoy  _did_ know when he started seeing Chekov differently. It had been just a few weeks ago, in the ship’s gymnasium. The good doctor had ventured in to do some simple weight training, realising he had begun to slack off in that particular area of his Not-Nearly-Often-Enough-Exercise-Regime, and found Lieutenant Chekov there on the treadmill, seemingly enjoying a steady run. That was pretty standard, since Chekov loved to run, and was pretty damn good at it, what with being the youngest cadet to ever win the Starfleet Academy marathon. In fact, McCoy had been in the gym with Chekov other times, and they'd merely nodded acknowledgements to each other before continuing their exercises without a single word exchanged, focused on themselves. Only, on  _this_ particular occasion, Chekov suddenly – and rather impressively in one, swift movement – stripped off his sweat soaked, regulation-tank, and continued running like it were as easy as shooting fish in a barrel.  

  
McCoy definitely started staring. Though, to his own merit, had at the very least managed to begin a set before he was practically drooling all over the mats on the gym floor. Chekov was stunning, and hell, McCoy _knew_ the Lieutenant was a good-looking guy, with his tight, honey-gold ringlets for curls and these bright, greyish-green eyes that almost always had a glint to them. But seeing him like  _that_ – topless, all hard muscle and sweat dripping down his pecs into his abs – was, frankly, quite a shock to McCoy’s system (and mainly in a very sexual way). He tried his best to focus on the mirror to spot himself, to close his eyes and pretend to enjoy the burn in his biceps and thighs, but sure enough, he found his gaze wandering back over to the gorgeous, fit and youthful Chekov, who was honestly starting to make running on a treadmill look like a brisk walk in the park. His legs were beautifully toned, the muscles in his thighs flexing and tense with every tread; the all-too-teasing, small fabric of his gym shorts clung perfectly to them. 

  
Once again trying to regain focus, McCoy realised he had barely finished two sets when Chekov suddenly started slowing his run to a mild jog. Not being able to help himself, he stole another glance at the young Lieutenant and practically moaned when Chekov wiped away the sweat from his forehead, his chest heaving. But it didn’t end there, oh no, because apparently Chekov found it  _so_ necessary to unscrew the top of his water bottle and proceed to pour at least a quarter of it over his face and torso before transitioning to a walk and hopping off the treadmill to wipe down the mess he’d made. Still catching his breath, Chekov gulped down the last of his water and looked over at McCoy to flash him a bright, million-watt smile and that was it. Without a word, McCoy all but dropped his dumbbell down onto the mats and made a swift exit, praying to any sort of God that might be listening that Lieutenant Chekov hadn’t seen the raging boner he was now sporting, made even more obvious through his sweatpants. How  _embarrassing_.   

  
He fled to his quarters in record time and absolutely did not, in no way, shape or form, masturbate in the shower like a teenaged boy seeing his first porno. No sir, he did not. (Okay. Maybe, he definitely  _did_ do that, and it had been  _damned nice_ , but he wasn’t about to admit that to anyone – not even Jim!) 

  
McCoy sat back in his office chair as he recalled this memory and covered his face with his hands, groaning in self-humiliation. He was completely and utterly fucked. 

 

* * *

 

“So, you going to do something about it?”  

  
McCoy stared into his glass of whiskey as he and Jim sat together in the Captain’s quarters, face as red as a beet, and snorted pessimistically. “The hell am I s’posed to do about it, exactly? Ask him out to dinner in Mess and just hope to God he wants to come back to my room? Chekov’s twenty-three, Jim, I highly doubt he’d be interested,” he answered. (He had, in fact, told Jim about the whole gym scenario.)

  
“You never know, dude! I mean, come on, it was only the two of you in there and he just  _happened_ to pull his shirt off  _and_ pour water on himself? I’d say that’s a pretty big sign he was putting a show on for you, and, in other words, wants you to fuck the shit out of him.” Jim was grinning so hard that McCoy wanted to slap it right off his smug face. 

  
“Matter a fact, I  _do_ know, Jim. Chekov and I don’t really talk much, unless it’s a shared meal with the rest of the Alpha crew. I’ve never noticed anythin’ before,” 

  
Jim shrugged. “Maybe he thought you’d never look twice at him before, when he was younger, and now that he’s a bit older, is going to start putting moves on you,” 

  
McCoy supposed there was some truth in that, but being the stubborn ass he was, refused to believe it was a possibility. Gorgeous, twenty-three-year-old geniuses are hardly likely to have any kind of interest in grouchy, set in their ways, divorced doctors that were well on their way to forty. Well, not in any sane universe, anyway. He’d just have to try and get the image of Chekov topless and soaked in sweat out of his head – mainly, so he could stop masturbating over it – and move the hell on with his life. 

  
McCoy swallowed down the rest of his drink and asked, mostly to himself, “Who the hell’d wanna put moves on me?” 

  

* * *

 

It had been a long, exhausting, injured-crew-filled day in Medical and McCoy had just about  _had it_. These were  _trained_ , Starfleet approved officers, and somehow, none of them seemed to understand the basic concept of common sense?! At least, he was absolutely certain that’s how so many of them seemed to be managing to obtain, in McCoy’s opinion,  _extremely avoidable_  injuries whilst on duty. If he had to hear one more story about how “they just hadn’t been paying enough attention” or “had sustained the injury a week earlier and not gotten checked out”, McCoy was going to lose it, and some poor soul – probably a Science department Ensign – was going wear it. 

  
The chime to his office sounded and he felt his jaw set in place, his entire body tense and ready to explode if it was Christine informing him he had yet another ridiculous, self-sustained injury to deal with. Sure enough, it _was_ Nurse Chapel, poking her head in with a warm smile, PADD secure in the crook of her elbow and held against her chest. 

  
“Do you have a moment for another exam?” She asked, patience and understanding in her voice. “I know it's been a long day, but I doubt this will take long, so just do it here and then I think you ought to maybe go off shift?” 

  
McCoy sighed, not wanting to take his frustration out on Christine and forced a tight smile. “Thanks, Chris. Will do,” 

  
With a nod, she exited the room and McCoy stood to grab his scanner and prepare for his, hopefully final, exam of the day. He was staring down at his PADD when he barely noticed the crew member taking initiative and seating themselves on the biobed, hands clasped in their lap. McCoy registered in his peripheral vision that his patient was wearing Command gold and let another sigh escape him, instantly assuming the injury or whatever the hell it was, most likely involved Jim or his influence. 

  
“Rank and name?” 

  
“Lieutenant Chekov, Doctor,” the all too familiar Russian accent answered. 

  
McCoy was so caught off guard he stupidly dropped his PADD, hearing it clatter to the floor. He cursed under his breath and bent to retrieve it, attempting to regulate his breathing and suddenly increased heart rate.  _Of course,_  it was Chekov. Why would it be anyone else? It seemed that the Universe just loved to deal McCoy a shitty hand whenever possible purely to watch him suffer. He felt his temper start to tick over, and whilst rationally he didn’t want to be an ass, it seemed to be second nature to McCoy at that point, and his defences were automatically cranked up as high as they could go. 

  
“Seriously, kid? What’d  _you_ do to yourself? I’d've thought, bein’ a genius an’ all, you’ve all people would have some goddamned common sense on this ship – unlike every other crew member I’ve dealt with today,” he snapped, fixing an unnecessary glare on the Lieutenant. 

  
Chekov sat up straighter on the biobed and narrowed his eyes, lips pursed together. “I have not injured myself, Doctor,” he replied calmly, but obviously irritated by McCoy’s manner. 

  
“Oh, fantastic, so you just thought you’d waltz on in here, to the CMOs office, and waste my damn time?” 

  
McCoy knew he was being a total dick, and his brain told him to shut the hell up and maybe even  _apologise_ , but he continued to glare at Chekov, arms crossed over his chest. The Lieutenant raised his chin, very obviously asserting his disdain once again, and McCoy watched him ball his fists against the fabric of the mattress. 

  
“So, you do not wish to know why I came to see you, then?” He asked, those lovely, lovat coloured eyes flashing with something like hope and the offering of forgiveness if just maybe, McCoy would answer “yes” to his question. 

  
Of course, he did not. “As far as I’m concerned, Lieutenant, you can get the hell outta my Sickbay. I don’t wanna see your mug in here again unless you actually need me for medical attention.” The words felt like acid on his tongue. He couldn’t believe he was actively pushing away somebody he was attracted to, and somebody – if he was real with himself – that he’d actually love to get to know better. 

  
Chekov glanced down at his lap for a moment; nodded and got to his feet. He stared hard at McCoy, then opened his mouth, clearly having more he wanted to say. “I will tell you anyway. I came here to ask if you would be interested in having dinner together, but I can see now it would have been better if I did not come at all. I am sorry to disturb you. I will not bother you ever again.” 

  
With that, he marched confidently out of McCoy’s office, leaving the doctor to stand alone, hating himself more than ever. He’d really put his foot in it this time.   

 

* * *

 

“Bones, you absolute dick!”  

  
McCoy sighed with a roll of his eyes as his best friend let himself into his quarters and stalked over to his desk, hands on hips. “Lemme guess, you spoke to Chekov,” he said simply, knowing there was at least going to be a  _chance_  of this conversation happening. 

  
“Too right I did! Poor guy pretty much came straight to me, furious as I’ve ever seen him, ranting and raving about how much of a prick my  _best friend_  is and that you rejected him before he could even ask! Most of it was in Russian, but I knew where it was going,” 

  
McCoy leaned forward in his chair and rested his head in his hands. “I really fucked up, Jim. No two ways about it. I asked him not to bother me in Sickbay again and now he’s going to do just that, only he’s never going to speak to me at  _all_ ,” he groaned, still feeling incredibly stupid. “How the hell am I s'posed to fix this?” 

  
“You need to go see him right now. You need to apologise. Not just a Bones Apology, either. A real one, where you say the words  _‘I’m sorry I was such an ass to you’_.” Jim was pointing his finger at him, his blue eyes all judgey and disappointed. McCoy hated that look.

  
“I can’t face him after that! I doubt he’d even answer if he knew it was me!” 

  
Jim walked around to McCoy and pulled him up and out of his chair, pushing him towards the door with force. “Out! Out now, Bones, or so help me I will  _drag_ you! Don’t waste such a good opportunity, alright? Chekov’s a huge catch, and whether you believe it or not, so are you. Go! Apologise!” 

  
McCoy found himself practically flung out into the corridor, just barley managing to maintain his balance, and glared down a few officers watching with amused expressions on their faces. He straightened up, adjusting his slightly rumpled uniform, and with a quick, annoyed but thankful glance to Jim, set out in the direction of Chekov’s quarters. He was a few decks lower than McCoy, and so he at least had a brief ride in the turbolift to quell his nerves as much as possible and try and work out what the hell he was going to say. 

  
Before he knew it, he was standing outside Chekov’s quarters. He didn’t request entry right away, still feeling pretty nervous and admittedly entertaining the idea of turning around and returning to his own room. But he knew there was a good chance Jim would be hanging around and ready to push him right back, so with shaky hands, he thumbed the door panel and waited. And waited. And waited. Five minutes passed, and there was still no answer. 

  
“To hell with this,” he muttered, turning on his heel and instantly finding himself face-to-face with the Lieutenant. _Talk about timing._

  
Chekov crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Doctor? You are in the way. Please move,” he said coolly, nodding at his door. 

 _  
Fuck, alright, here we go._  McCoy swallowed and licked his lips. “I’m sorry, Pavel.” Chekov’s features immediately softened a little. “I was a huge ass back in Sickbay and you didn’t deserve it. Can... could we talk?” 

  
The younger man let his arms fall to his sides and he gave McCoy an almost trusting look. “I accept your apology. We can talk.” 

  
He stepped around the doctor to press his code in and suddenly McCoy found himself wandering into the Lieutenant’s quarters. They were very similar to his own with the king-single sized Starfleet bed separated by a wall from a desk and small armchair. There was a framed photograph of Chekov and what he assumed were family members on the small bedside table and the walls were decorated with multiple star charts. Chekov went to sit on his desk chair, moving it around the front to face McCoy, and gestured simply at the armchair nearby. McCoy sat and rubbed his palms nervously over his knees, trying to rid them of sweat. 

  
“So, why did you speak so rudely to me in Sickbay?” Chekov began calmly. 

  
McCoy winced and glanced away. “’Cause I’m a damned fool that doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut...” 

  
“ _Oy_ , I did not invite you in to offer sympathy,” the Lieutenant replied with a little huff.  

  
“I know, I know... Look, I _am_ sorry. I was just... well, I was caught off guard when I realised it was you in there, then I made a damn ass of myself dropping the PADD, and I guess I was just embarrassed and exhausted. None a that excuses the way I treated you, though, Pavel. Think you can forgive me?” 

  
Chekov watched him from his chair, the usual glint slowly returning to his eyes, and then he smiled; it was the most beautiful fucking thing McCoy had ever seen. “I suppose I can, but it depends,” he said cheekily. 

  
“Depends on what? Name it,” 

  
“To start with, what would have been your answer to my question?” 

  
Question? McCoy narrowed his eyes, feeling mildly confused for a moment, but then his brain helpfully supplied him with the memory of Chekov stating he was going to ask him out to dinner. “Oh. Well, I uh... I mean, to be honest, I – “ 

  
“I understand,” Chekov interrupted, sitting up straight. “That is why you call me ‘kid’, you think I am too young. Well, I am not too young, I – “ 

  
“Pavel, I’ve been wanting to ask you out myself ever since that morning at the gym,” 

  
The younger man snapped his mouth shut and blushed right to the tips of his ears. He stared down at the floor, a sheepish grin spreading over his face as he chewed his bottom lip. For a few more moments, he didn’t say anything, and McCoy was beginning to wonder if this was some big joke Chekov was playing on him, when suddenly the Lieutenant strode over and took his face roughly into his hands, pushing their lips together. McCoy could hardly breathe, let alone come to terms with what was happening. Was he seriously kissing Pavel Chekov right now? Yep, he definitely was, and it was  _fucking incredible_. The Lieutenant was eager as all hell, making these little sounds that were positively _sinful_ , and McCoy was hard as a rock in moments. 

  
When the younger man climbed onto his lap and deepened their kiss with his tongue, McCoy wondered when he was going to wake up, because it must be a dream; there was no way –  

  
Chekov pulled away, panting. He smiled and hooked his arms around McCoy’s neck. “You would like to go to dinner with me, then?” 

  
“Definitely,” he answered, licking his lips.  

  
The Lieutenant seemed pleased with that answer and leaned in to kiss him again, grinding his hips down and rubbing their erections together. McCoy tried to fight the moan bubbling out of his throat but was unsuccessful which earned him a similar noise in return from Chekov - who was now reaching for and trying to unbuckle McCoy’s belt.  _Jesus Christ_. He grabbed the younger man’s wrists and moved them away, bringing their kissing to an abrupt stop. 

  
“Hold your horses, sweetheart,” he urged, “there’ll be plenty of time for that later. Let me take you to dinner first.” 

  
Chekov pouted and let his palms rest on McCoy’s blue, uniformed chest. “I would much rather have  _you_  for dinner,” he said, so straight-faced that the doctor laughed out loud. 

  
“You’re  _such_  a twenty-three year old,”  

  
“And  _you_  are such an old man,” Chekov quipped with a grin. He gave McCoy another heated, wet kiss and then slipped off his lap. “Alright. Let’s go to dinner. You are going to need the energy for later if you are expecting to take me to bed.” 

  
McCoy just stared at him, his mouth curving into an amused and fond smirk as he watched Chekov adjust the front of his pants and stand by the door, waiting patiently. He had never been so grateful for Jim in that moment. If he hadn’t heckled McCoy to come and apologise, none of this would likely be happening. So, feeling brave, he got up and exited the Lieutenant’s quarters, reaching between them for Chekov’s hand and smiling when the younger man glanced at him adoringly, tightening his grip in sign of affection. 

 _  
Hell, how’d_ _I_ _get so_ _lucky_ _?_  

**Author's Note:**

> Please kudos/comment! I love feedback!


End file.
